Midnight Ponderings
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Harry the saviour of the Wizarding world. Smokes in bed. Sleeps with his godfather. Would much rather just forget the whole savingtheworld thing. As he has no choice, however, he can at least have his own reasons.Implied SLASH HPSB.


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them, sad as it is.

A/N: I just thought back to my first true fic (the awfully misspelled and grammatically horrible **Past Midnight**) and decided to try it the other way around. Plus, I wanted to write a not-so-noble Harry.  
So, it's Harry lying on the bed, thinking about his relationship, his life, and saving the Wizarding World.  
WARNINGS: Slash, great age difference, godfather/godson (Sirius/Harry). If any of these offend you, turn away now.

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Midnight Ponderings

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Mmm... I feel good. I feel good because I've just had splendid sex. And no, you don't want to know more about that. Or even if you did, I wouldn't tell.

Geez, he's asleep already. Well, I guess that age takes its toll on everyone. Placing a light kiss on his temple, I then roll to my side of the bed, reaching for the nightstand. A slight touch of my wand lights the cigarette.

Yeah, I smoke. A bad habit, I know that. I should get rid of it. Everybody always keeps telling me that, saying that it shortens my expected lifespan.

Who cares, anyway? It's not like my life expectance was one of the longest even now. One of the shortest, rather.

I glance at the man next to me and smile despite myself. If he woke up and saw what I am doing, he would say that I shouldn't smoke in the bed. He wouldn't say that I shouldn't smoke at all, however, like anybody else would do. And that's the difference.

He's always like that. He's taught me that it doesn't matter _what_ exactly you do. The only things that matter are _how_ you do it, and _why_. Those are the questions you should answer.

It's quite simple, really. Everybody knows already that I should kill Voldemort, or die trying. That's not the difficult part. The _how_, however, is a lot more tricky. Voldemort isn't exactly a man you could kill only by deciding to. As of late, I've been wondering whether he's a man at all anymore.

Well, _how_ will be solved. Everybody's trying to solve it, researching curses and hexes, bonds and breaking them, magical injuries and Muggle killing means. This far all researches have been unsuccessful, but I know it will manage in the end. Hermione and Remus are researching also, after all. If they won't succeed, then nobody will.

They did solve the mystery of the Veil, now didn't they?

Anyway, the other question remaining is _why_. Most would think that's easy, too. But it's not, not really. I'm not as willing to die for the sake of the world as everybody thinks. Sure, I will do that if need be. But not for the classical reasons. Not for the innocent, the children, the people who don't deserve such an ill fate as to fall under Voldemort's rulement. I was innocent when my parents were murdered, I was a child when I confronted him for the first time, and I don't think even the Dark Lord himself could deserve a fate such as mine. This fate, which I didn't ask for, which I didn't deserve -- it was my mother's sacrifice that saved me, not my own powers! -- which I don't even fully understand, not even yet.

No, I have my own reasons. My special reasons. Selfish reasons, if you want to use that word, for I am selfish. I am going to fight Voldemort, because otherwise I'll never have a chance to have a normal life. (Not that I will anyway -- if being the Boy Who Lived is bad, then the Man Who Won cannot be any easier!) And I am going to win him, stand over his dying body and watch him die, because he has hurt him. I am going to avenge for every person dear to me he has killed, or got killed, or hurt in any way. Not that they would care, not that my dead parents would necessarily even know that Voldemort has been killed. And didn't Mother avenge already? It was her sacrifice that drove Voldemort away, almost wholly drained him. It was not my power, or my might. It was hers.

Ah, well. Selfish reasons for a selfish guy, like my love would say. It's just that, you know. In the end everyone is selfish, and I'm one of them. Sure, I'll give my life if need be, but I will not sacrifice myself for nothing. If it doesn't earn me Voldemort's ultimate defeat, I will not die. I will survive, and live on, and laugh at the old snakeface's grave.

I'm only twenty years old, and I don't want to die yet. There might still be a lot for me, if only Voldemort wasn't there. And I want to see that lot.

It's a human thing to want to live -- and still some wouldn't allow me even that. I'm a hero, I'm expected to do anything for everybody else, even die, if that's what they need to be happy and well. Well, nasty surprise, guys. My bargain only includes killing Voldemort. Nobody's mentioned dying for you all.

There are some people I would die for, right. But they are few and far between. Hermione and Ron, for two. They've always been there for me through everything. Professor Snape -- don't tell this to anyone, but that man has saved my life more times than I could ever have earned even if I had killed a full dozen of Dark Lords. He's been entirely willing to give his life for me, and it's just polite to do him the same, right? Plus, I have some respect for him -- you have to respect a man who can spy on Voldemort for a couple of decades and still come out alive. And he still comes out alive, arriving from every Death Eater meeting, even if he is on the door of death when he arrives back, which is often the case.

Hermione, Ron, Snape. Who else? Well, I suppose Professor Lupin -- he's always been there for me, for as long as I've known him, anyway. He's the one I always turn to when I'm in need of good advice, and he was the one who defended me when everybody else thought I'd gone crazy at last. I wouldn't much wonder if I had, with everything that has been going on around me for my entire life, but in that matter, it was not true.

That brings to mind the last person on the list. Or maybe the first, for I would die a thousand painful deaths just for him, and do it gladly. I know he would die for me. And more - he's done it already. He was trying to save me when he fell through that wretched Veil, after all. Living in half-existence for almost a year before we found a way to bring him back, he suffered unimaginable pains, then came back and lived, still lives. All this for me.

Extinguishing my cigarette and throwing it away, I turn to my lover. Wrapping an arm around his chest, I sigh in contentment as he doesn't stir, allowing me to snuggle up to him for some comfort.

"I love you, Sirius," I whisper into his ear as I bring my hand to comb those wonderful raven locks. "I love you so much."

Most don't accept our relationship, but we don't care about them. Those who matter accept and understand -- Remus was the first one to accept us, then Hermione, dragging Ron with her. Even the rest of the Order are still suspicious, telling that even though I'm indeed of age it isn't appropriate. I don't know what's having them so bothered. Is it because we have such a large age gap? Or because he's my Godfather? Those are nonsense. I never knew him when I grew up, so him being my Godfather hardly matters. And age differences are rarely paid another thought in the wizarding world, where two hundred years of life are, while rare, not unheard of.

Not that either of us expects to live long, anyway. I have Voldemort to face. Sirius is still on run, escaping both the Ministry and the Death Eaters. I'm twenty and he's forty, and most probably neither of us will live five years more. It just doesn't seem possible, considering that the fates seem to hate us both.

No, this is not the right place nor the time for this kind of thoughts. Not at all. When I'm in Sirius's arms, I shouldn't be thinking about killing or death. All I should think about is life, love, and the present, which truly is a gift. This one moment, anyway. Considering what my life has been this far, nobody knows how hellish it might be after five minutes more. In five minutes I might be dead. In five minutes _Sirius_ might be dead, and for good this time.

You have exactly one guess as of which would be worse to me.

No, Sirius won't die. I won't let him. Anybody trying to kill him would have to come through me at first. Although knowing him, he'll most probably get himself killed while trying to save me. He's a fool, but I won't call him a fool, because I'm one myself, for the same reasons, even.

What was the saying, anyway? "Merlin protects those strong in faith, weak in mind, or too drunken to count to one." Maybe it was not just that -- never trust Fred and George to tell anything wholly right. My point being, however, that being a fool might sometimes be just a good thing.

At least thinking about Sirius will stop me from thinking whether I'll live to see the dawn.

...Yes, let's just decide that being a fool is a very good idea. And then, let's sleep.

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A/N: No, there's no more of it. It's just a one-shot. 


End file.
